


Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds

by raven_aorla



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oswald as Fashion Godfather, Referenced past child abuse, Unofficially But Totally Dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Oswald isn't thrilled to have a (relatively) healed Jonathan Crane underfoot so often, but Ed's very attached to his protege in geeky villainy. So Oswald wants to connect with the boy more. A boy whose emotions are impaired and who wears an ugly sack over his head while on the prowl. A boy with an appalling taste in clothes in general. What to do?





	Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds

**Author's Note:**

> This is a similar 'verse to my [Made to Measure series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/706518), but it is distinct. Published before 4x01 aired, or even trailered.

Oswald understood Ed’s yearning to vicariously act out his old fantasies of having a nurturing parental figure. He didn’t understand Ed’s choice. Oswald didn’t like the Jonathan's creepiness, his screaming fits if he missed a dose of medication, or his slovenly wardrobe. But Ed was thrilled to have this rumpled little Crane under his wing, and that meant Oswald needed to try.

When Ed had heard that the boy whose father’s scientific paper he’d been fascinated by had regained lucidity, he ran to the hospital. As a brilliant amoral orphan with serious daddy issues, Jonathan had imprinted on Ed like a baby chick. Ed helped Jonathan become an emancipated minor when Jonathan was strong enough to rejoin society. Threats to judges may have been involved. (Outright adoption would have just given Jonathan the stigma of ANOTHER killer father.) Since then, one of the rooms of the mansion had become Jonathan’s during his increasingly frequent overnight stays. Olga started keeping crunchy peanut butter on hand as well as Oswald’s preferred creamy. Once Oswald caught her mending that burlap hood with eyeholes and a jagged tear of a mouth Jonathan wore when on a mission. She shrugged. “Boy has no fear, gets in more danger. Mask is something.”

When Ed came home from another of his violent science adventures with Jonathan a few nights later, Oswald said, "First of all, I hope that's all a third party's blood. Second of all, I’m not saying I’m not glad you’re enjoying being a mentor and unofficial ‘father’. I just…I'm not clicking."

“We're both fine. And he warms up to adults who treat him as equals, not time bombs. Who see beyond what’s happened to him.” Ed wasn’t dressed as the Riddler, just in subtle hunter greens and browns. He leaned down to kiss Oswald. Gingerly, so as not to transfer any stains. “Just find a way to show him your good intentions.”

Oswald enjoyed the kiss for a moment before defending himself. “I don’t treat him like a time bomb.”

“You look like you’re about to jump behind a chair every time he raises his voice slightly.”

He’d hoped it wasn’t that obvious. “Prolonged screaming is dissonant. And unpleasant. Except when it’s happening because of us to someone who deserves it. Then it’s funny.” 

Ed snorted and took Oswald’s hand. He squeezed it. “Reach out to him. I promise he wants positive attention more than he seems like he does.”

“Did he go home?”

“Yes. It made more sense to show him how to do things himself in his own environment. I left him there and drove back. Why? Are you looking for positive attention?”

Oswald grinned. “You got me. But only after you shower.”

That night, Oswald woke because he was cold. Sleeping Ed was trying his damnedest to be a cross between a little spoon and a burrito. He made sad sounds when Oswald wrestled back one of the many blankets. Warmer now, Oswald considered the things he’d had success bonding over. Simply being himself had worked with his parents. Them saving his life and him paying them handsomely as regular employees had worked well with Gabe, Zsasz, and Ivy. Olga had weird mothering instincts once you got past her initial reserve, and her improving English had made for better interactions. Ed saving his life, doing crime together, sharing painful memories, and the physical aspect of their relationship had made them the inseparable duo they were.

None of that would work with Jonathan. But there was one thing Oswald knew about that might benefit him.

The next time Jonathan came over, Ed was still out trying to get Barbara Kean to let him use the Sirens club as one of the stops in a convoluted scavenger hunt “to show Foxy how much I appreciate him as a worthy rival”. So Oswald greeted him in the foyer. Ed had wheedled Oswald into letting Jonathan have a key to the house and know the security system code. _“He doesn’t hurt people randomly, only when necessary for science. He’s even nonviolent towards people who hurt him, barring accidents, he just messes with their heads. And he’d never hurt us.”_

As usual, Jonathan was wearing patchy blue jeans, scuffed black sneakers, and a black hooded sweatshirt he’d cut holes (which he’d hemmed) into the overly-long sleeves of so he could stick his thumbs through them. It was partially unzipped, revealing another of his t-shirts covered in Japanese writing and drawings of people with oddly colored hair and impractically large eyes.

“Ed will be back in a bit,” Oswald said. “He’s -”

“He called me. Thanks.” Jonathan had only a large backpack with him. 

Oswald pointed at the backpack. “Do you have enough clothes for the whole weekend?”

“Yeah. I just did laundry yesterday so I had two completely clean shirts and some underwear and socks I could stuff in there. My normal suitcase has a family of field mice in it. I don’t want to stress the mother by relocating her babies. Still not sure how she got into my room or why she chose that as the place, but I’ve never tried anything on _field_ mice before. Might be interesting.”

“I don’t want to know.” Oswald was aware that Jonathan bred mice and rats to use in trials that didn’t require humans, but he preferred not to think about details. “You do have enough money to buy new clothes, right?”

“I have enough money for day-to-day and to cover the expenses scholarships won’t when I finally get to college.” Jonathan was being forced to repeat a grade after what Ed called his “energetic coma” made him miss too much class. “It’s just not priority, thanks. Can I go to my room now, Mr. Cobblepot?”

“I’ll walk with you.”

When they got to Jonathan’s designated room, Jonathan flicked on the light and stared at the new objects laid out on the bed like they were a washed-up jellyfish on the beach. “What are those?”

“They’re clothes.”

“Why are they in my room? Olga knows this is my room. I had a chat with her about how I don't like sheets tucked in with ‘hospital corners’ because they make me think of hospitals. She was nice about it.”

Oswald contained his annoyance. Jonathan didn’t get a lot of presents these days. Was probably flabbergasted. “They’re a gift for you.”

Jonathan stared at Oswald for a second and approached the bed. Oswald hadn’t wanted to overwhelm him with suits, which might not be appropriate for a teen who wasn’t someone like Bruce Wayne anyway. Instead there were two Oxford shirts, one in light blue, and the other in basic white. One pair of black slacks. He’d only gotten one pair because he wasn’t completely certain they’d hang well on Jonathan. Would probably need alterations. Months of being nourished solely by IVs while also thrashing and crying out for all his waking hours had left Jonathan even scrawnier and spindlier than your stereotypical teenage boy. Shoes needed to be tried on, so Oswald hadn’t attempted them. A dark brown sports jacket had seemed a safe choice.

Oswald knew that Jonathan literally couldn’t feel fear anymore. Jonathan had been through a series of official psychological tests. He’d also been through a series of unofficial Curious Nygma tests. Most memorably, Ed had observed him watching a horror movie marathon with no reaction other than laughing at bad plot holes, while Ed himself had suppressed shrieks and needed to sleep with lights on for two weeks afterwards. With help from his therapist and Ed, Jonathan had learned how to evaluate risk and its pros and cons in a logical way as substitute. It worked most of the time.

If Oswald hadn’t known about Jonathan’s lack of fear, he’d be wondering if Jonathan was afraid of the clothes. His face was blank and he’d gone still. “Why?”

“You’re getting a bit older now, and this is how adults dress…” 

Jonathan turned to look at him, his face blank. His voice was flat. “I know you think I’m a broken child, but I didn’t think you’d outright make fun of me for it.”

Oswald gaped, wondering if he’d misheard somehow. “What?”

“I need to be alone,” Jonathan said, icier than Victor Fries drinking an Icee that he was stirring with an icicle to wash down an Italian Ice in an ICU in Iceland. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Alone.”

Oswald backed out the door. Jonathan closed it and locked it. Seconds later, the door opened again. Oswald said, “Oh, good, let’s talk this -”

Jonathan threw the whole set of clothes at him, then slammed the door shut and locked it again.

When Oswald told the story to Ed, his partner frowned and looked straight up as if he could see through the floor. “When he expresses strong feelings, I’m never sure whether to be glad or worried.”

“He was extremely rude to me!” Oswald realized how petty he sounded, to be so wounded by a kid being a kid, but he’d been trying to be nice.

Ed sighed. “Yes, and that’s not okay, but I’m sure there’s a reason. Maybe we can let him sulk a bit. See if he comes down for food eventually. If he doesn’t, I’ll talk to him.”

He didn’t come down for dinner. Oswald caught Olga carrying a sandwich, a bottle of water, and a glass of chocolate milk upstairs. “Olga, we’re not encouraging this behavior.”

Olga raised an eyebrow at him. “His pills must have with food. No food, no taking pills. No taking pills, you know what happens.” She did a silent impression of howling screams. 

_Damn you for being logical._ “Fine.”

A few hours later, Oswald watched from a safe distance as Ed approached the door and knocked. “Jonathan, it’s Mr. Nygma. I’m not here to scold you, I just want to figure out what’s wrong.”

A blast of music came from the room. The music was grating to Oswald’s ears, and the singer vicious and growling. _I AM THE BLACK CROW KING._

Ed raised his voice. “I know what it’s like to feel misunderstood. I’m hear to understand.”

_I AM THE BLACK CROW KING! KEEPER OF THE NODDING CORN!_

Oswald came closer so Ed could hear him without him shouting. “Did you ever do something like this?” 

Ed’s face took on a pinched look. “There were times I wanted to, but...bad things...happened when I so much as forgot to say ‘sir’....so…”

Sometimes Oswald forgot. Ed had revealed the truth of his hellish childhood so slowly, in such tiny pieces, and they spoke of it so seldom. Oswald got onto his tiptoes to kiss his cheek in apology.

_ALL THE HAMMERS ARE A-TALKING. ALL THE NAILS ARE A-SINGING._

“Discretion can be the better part of valor,” Ed concluded. “But at least he took the food inside his room at some point."

Thankfully, Jonathan stopped blaring the music once the song ended. Though Oswald had caught Ed bopping to the bits about the storm a-rolling and making a dramatic gesture at “SURRENDER UP MY ARMS TO A COMPANY OF CROOOOOOOOWS!” Traitor.

Clearly upset but trying to hide it, Ed stayed up late in his continued efforts to isolate residual traces of the fear inoculation in Jonathan’s blood, see if they could play with it. Jonathan gave him the sample two weeks ago and Ed had been hoping to show him all the progress made since then. And teach him a bit more about molecular chemistry. Jonathan was top of his chemistry class, and it was an AP course, essentially college level, but he craved further knowledge. Oswald felt Ed climb into bed at some point, though, and clutched at the blankets to prevent further thievery.

In the morning, Olga said, “Jonathan was eating when I come here. He washed his dish and went up again.”

“That’s a good start,” Oswald said.

“Only you are awake?”

“Ed was up late, but I admit I’m famished. I think I’ll go look over some contracts in my study after something quick. Toast and tea?”

Thus fortified, Oswald went to his study while feeling less heavy-hearted. Pseudo-parenthood had its ups and downs, right?

Oswald opened the door of the study. And nearly jumped out of his skin. He may or may not have made an undignified high-pitched noise. 

Every surface was covered in either Polaroid photographs of scarecrows or drawings of scarecrows. Incredibly creepy scarecrows, as well, at ominous angles or ominous lighting, some which were on fire. Though on closer inspection a few were Guy Fawkes effigies in the U.K., which was cheating.

Taped to Oswald’s chair, right in his line of sight, was a sheet of paper covered in large, scraggly handwriting. _“How are they dressed??!?!”_

“Are you alright, Oswald?” came Ed’s frantic voice, accompanied by him running down the hall. Oswald wordlessly indicated the petulant vandalism. Ed buried his face in his hands. “I should have listened to Foxy.”

“Wait, did you tell Lucius Fox about Jonathan during one of your extremely odd heart-to-hearts at gunpoint? We could find you a real therapist to hold at gunpoint. His patience with you will last only so long. Jonathan says he knows about a few good ones besides his own.”

Ed rubbed his face as if to check that this wasn’t a dream. “Of course not. I asked him what it was like being a parental figure to Bruce Wayne. He was remarkably candid about his own feelings. I think I’m growing on him. I’m going to get food and maybe a jug of coffee before I go talk to him.”

“Is he in his room?” Oswald could imagine Jonathan just up and driving home after this stunt.

“He’s now less-loudly playing music about a ‘crane wife’, including lines about ‘and I will hang my head low’. I wonder if he’s trying to follow in my riddling footsteps in the most emo way possible.” Ed smiled for second. “He taught me that word. ‘Emo’. It’s slang.”

After eating Ed disappeared into the lion cub’s den for a full eighty-six minutes. Oswald did not touch any of the Scarecrow pictures. He went to shower and get properly dressed, and then did his work at the dining table instead.

He looked up when Ed was coming towards him, Jonathan trailing in his wake. “Jonathan has some things he wants to say to you, but he’d prefer to say it in your study, while he gathers up all the pictures he startled you with. Right?”

Jonathan nodded slowly. 

“Would you like me to be there or not?”

“There, but silent unless I ask you to contribute, please.”

“Sounds good.”

Oswald took the desk chair, Ed leaned against a wall - making him look distractingly casually dashing - and Jonathan went around collecting the pictures. He didn’t make eye contact, but he rarely did unless he was informing the other person that he’d figured out what they most feared in the world. And what it was. 

Jonathan said quietly, “I remember being normal, you know. Sometimes I can imagine what that normal me would do. It can help. But normal me only got something like that from one of my parents. You’re not my parent. I know you’re wary of me. Why wouldn’t you be? I’m fucked up.”

Ed looked like he was about to say ‘language’ but thought better of it.

“In a specific way that nobody else is. Mr. Nygma likes me because the parts of me that I’ve constructed since then, plus a few of the things that stayed, go well with his own. That’s something you and I don’t share, Mr. Cobblepot. The only motivation you have to put up with me is because you love Mr. Nygma.” Jonathan paused and stared at the wall. “You know I want to be a psychiatrist one day. To help people with their emotions. That’s what my work is for, not because I like hurting people. I’m good at figuring out what people are afraid of, and by extension what’s wrong with them. I’m not so good, at least not yet, at what’s _right_ with them.”

“And?” Oswald prompted when the pause started getting awkward.

“I didn’t realize that was you reaching out in one of your few ways you feel comfortable making friends. I thought you were saying that I’m not good enough to be in your beautiful house with your handsome and brilliant partner. I thought you were just like everyone except Mr. Nygma, and, like, this one girl I know from AP Psych who needs better self-esteem and taste in boys. Everyone else puts up with me because they have to. That doesn’t bother me for the most part, but if you don’t like me, that will make it harder for Mr. Nygma to keep liking me. That’s something I don’t like. So I got angry.”

“The scarecrows were a way of asserting your identity, I’m guessing.” Oswald looked around at the pictures Jonathan hadn’t picked up yet. He wondered which one was the one that haunted Jonathan. Or had Jonathan left it out entirely?

“Sure. Also I knew they’d freak you out.”

Ed tried to disguise a laugh with a cough. Oswald gave him a fake death glare. 

“Mr. Nygma explained to me how you feel about clothes. How they make you feel confident and strong, the way my mask does when I’m out at night. He said that’s what you wanted to give to me. It wasn’t condescension, it was a show of support. Is that true?”

Oswald nodded. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “My experiences and personality aren’t as similar to yours as Ed’s are. But I was a lonely teenager once. Wore even more eyeliner.”

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “How? Where did it fit?”

Oswald wasn’t actually sure. “The first time I put on a suit that fit me properly, it felt like armor. It felt like people would respect me more. Like I could walk a little taller. In retrospect, it would have been better to run any surprise gifts by someone who knew you better than I did.”

Ed made a “come on” gesture at Jonathan, who didn’t look Oswald in the eye but at least looked at his face. “I jumped to conclusions and overreacted, Mr. Cobblepot. Now that I know your motivations, I won’t lose my sh….I mean temper...like that. At least not without better evidence. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Oswald said.

With a half-smile, Jonathan said, “Not a lot of people get forgiven by the Penguin, so I know that means a lot. Please don’t hug me.”

“I won’t.” Oswald knew Jonathan’s distaste for touch was hard for Ed when he wanted to do something so simple as pat his protege on the back or give him a handshake. Ed also wanted Jonathan to call him Ed, or even Edward, not Mr. Nygma. But maintaining slight formality kept Jonathan from becoming too leery of their closeness. Experiencing intense emotion in general both overwhelmed Jonathan and gave him a sense of how empty he was the rest of the time. Poor kid. 

“I do high-fives and fist bumps, if you like,” Jonathan said, stepping closer. 

“High-fives are too victorious in nature,” Ed said. “Not quite right for this scenario.”

“I don’t know what a fist-bump is,” Oswald said.

“We can show you. He taught me.” It proved to be a very literal name. Ed and Jonathan made fists and lightly bumped them together, the knuckles coming into contact.

“There’s an optional explosion at the end if you’re, I dunno, like, exuberant or something,” Jonathan added. This was less literal. It just meant opening the hand quickly afterward, palm down. 

“Let’s do the basic one for now,” Oswald said, making a fist. Jonathan stepped over to bump it.

“If you want someone to fist-bump you, you can make a fist and say ‘pound it’.” He started collecting the pictures again.

“Do people still do thumb wars?” Ed asked.

Jonathan looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you both under thirty-five years old? These are grandpa questions.”

“I was never a cool kid to start with.”

“Neither am I. I just observe.”

To avoid this going down the rabbit hole of Ed’s adolescence when they were all just getting over a tense moment, Oswald asked, “How did you get so many pictures of scarecrows in one night? Plus several drawings?”

“I’d already done most of them, and I had art supplies. My therapist sometimes assigns me to draw some scarecrows as ‘homework’, and we compare them to my older drawings. They keep evolving when it comes to features and coloring and so on. I’ll never fully lose my Scarecrow, capital S, my psychiatrist thinks, so my therapist and I are trying to have me coexist peacefully with its presence in my life. My plan was to draw more during downtime this visit.” Jonathan picked up one of his drawings and looked at it like he’d never seen it before. “It’s unfortunate that she can’t ever know a huge puzzle piece to who I am now.”

“That explains the drawings, but how about all the photos?” Oswald asked.

Jonathan said calmly, flatly even, “I told you with the song. I am the black crow king.”

“Um?” A silly part of Oswald's primordial brain toyed with the idea of keeping holy water around, just in case. Of course Ed was beaming at his ‘adorable’ stray in his dopiest manner. 

Now done collecting the pictures, Jonathan arranged them into a tidy stack and headed for the hallway. “If you still have the clothes, can I keep them? They might make good disguises sometime. Or if I have to do a job interview. You’re not allowed to really be yourself in a job interview. Most places and times.”

“How about here?” Ed asked, but he was looking at Oswald.

“As long as you don’t try to scare me again,” Oswald said.

Jonathan fully smiled then, and that was something he didn’t do often.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, [Intangible Quantities can be read on its own, and tells the story of a similar Jonathan having a similar relationship with Ed.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11033349/chapters/24591741)
> 
> Songs referenced:
> 
> ["Black Crow King" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rPWamnWE498)"The Crane Wife 3" by The Decemberists
> 
> *****
> 
> Before you go, here are links to my queerer-than-the-summary-suggests published urban fantasy novel: [ Available as ebook and print form on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DSLT3D2/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1529183871&sr=8-2&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=Donaya+Haymond&dpPl=1&dpID=51cFXjiasBL&ref=plSrch), and in [print from the Barnes & Noble site.](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seasons-turning-donaya-haymond/1129067787?ean=9780999202654)


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